


let me stay down.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4469783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles are dating and have their own stream, but sometimes they have guests.  Jackson is a solo cams boy looking to get some good publicity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me stay down.

Scott and Stiles are on the bed, the laptop open in front of them and the link pulled up.  They browse through the videos quickly, Stiles zeroing in right away on one labelled “Jax fucked with HUGE vibe.”

“He’s really gotta work on his titles,” Stiles snorts, but he pushes Scott’s hand out of the way so he can click on it.  It’s not a long video.  “You know if this is shitty I’m gonna laugh.”

The words die quickly when he sees Jackson on the screen.  He’s much prettier than Stiles expected him to be, though he knew he couldn’t be that bad.  Danny had informed them that he was definitely worth collaborating with, when they’d asked.  

His pompous (but professional enough, Scott insisted) email hadn’t endeared him to Stiles, but Stiles has always been picky about their co-stars.  

“This camera has a one douchebag limit,” Stiles likes to joke to Scott.

“Better than a one asshole limit, I guess.” Scott always replies.

Stiles thinks he may have to revise that policy, though.  Jackson may be smarmy and dripping with condescension via email, but the video’s just started and he’s already sprawled out, his ass held open for everyone to see, lube tossed on the bed and three fingers slicked up.

“No lead-up there,” Stiles comments, glancing at Scott.  Scott’s eyes are glued to the screen, and Stiles honestly can’t blame him.  Jackson’s definitely appealing, in a lot of the same ways Stiles is.  He caters to a certain demographic, his hole shaved, his perfect, angled cheekbones and tousled hair and puffy, pink lips (and even puffier nips).

It’s no wonder he wants to work with Stiles and Scott; they’re catering to the same demographic, without a doubt.

“He’s got a quality camera,” Scott says, as if he could be objective about this at all.  Scott always tries so hard, commenting on the camera angles and the image quality.

Stiles, on the other hand, already has one hand toying lazily with the elastic of Scott’s boxers by the time Jackson has one slick finger sliding himself, smooth and easy.  Jackson’s whole body relaxes, his face already bleeding satisfaction.

“Jesus,” Stiles says, “is he even going to make it to the vibe?  He looks like he could come just from that.”

Scott glances away from the screen for just a moment to give Scott a knowing look.  “Don’t act like you aren’t the same way,” he says lightly, “or that you don’t like that he is.  You go boneless when I open you up for me, too.”

He’s right, of course.  Jackson spreads his legs wider when the second finger slides in, and Stiles squirms.  Jackson moans, so quiet and subtle that Stiles almost doesn’t notice it at first.  He’s transfixed by the way Jackson’s abs tense up, the way the muscles on his arm flex as he tries to get inside himself just a  _little_ bit deeper, even when he’s meant to just be stretching himself open.

“He’d love your cock,” Scott says absently as Stiles tugs Scott’s boxers down and off.  Stiles remembers the days when Scott was uncomfortable talking like this, before he realized that Stiles liked it.  He’s still shy about using filthy language, especially in front of the camera, so when he does it, Stiles knows he’s doing it just for him.

“He would,” Stiles agrees.  “It’s nice and long and thick for him.  He looks like he’d love being stuffed full.  He’s practically begging to be fucked, isn’t he?”

“It’s hard to decide which hole of his I want you to fuck more,” Scott says over Jackson’s moans.  Jackson has already worked himself open, and Stiles watches absently as he slowly presses the toy inside.  They can hear the low buzz of the soft blue vibrator, but neither of them is really focused on what’s on the screen anymore.

The fact that Stiles can already picture it so vividly, that he has such a strong visceral reaction to how he wants Jackson to be fucked is enough to know that however mouthy Jackson is, he wants him on his hands and knees on their bed.

“I call dibs on his ass,” Stiles says, and Scott snorts.  

“Hear me out,” Stiles insists.  “You get a better view from where you’re fucking into his throat.  You can see the way his hole gives so easy when I’m pressing fingers into him, the way he gets slutty for it.  You can see how I fucking into him, the way I’m filling him up and stretching him, fucking him so hard he moves towards you when I start to push him harder.  You can see the way I’d mark him up, leaving scratches on his back, finger-shaped bruises on his hips.”

Scott lifts the laptop away from them and onto the floor, giving them space to move.  He gently pushes Stiles onto his back, hovering between Stiles’ legs.  “You’d probably mark up his neck, too, unless he told you not to.  He’d look so nice with bruises right above his collarbone, and it’d make him squirm, make his dick chub up.”

“It would,” Stiles agrees, spreading his naked legs wider for Scott.  “I’d cover him in them, though you wouldn’t see them forming until after.  Give a nice treat to his viewers, a reminder of how he looked with his pretty mouth around you, eyes closed because he loves the taste of cock so much.”

Scott leans down, holding Stiles’ thighs still with his hands as he licks slowly at the head of Stiles’ dick.  Stiles pauses, but Scott shakes his head.  “Keep talking,” he says.

Stiles groans, because he knows this game, but words come pouring out quickly.  “He’d probably beg you for it, if you made him.  You could sit there in front of him, stroking yourself until you’re smearing your hand with precome and not letting him taste any at all until he asks nicely.  You’d tease him, just give him a finger, let everyone watch how greedily he sucked at it.”

He’s rewarded with Scott taking Stiles’ dick into his mouth, working his way into a slow, steady rhythm.  Stiles knows he can’t stop talking now, though, or Scott will stop, a giant grin on his face, insisting Stiles keep going even as Stiles is gasping and moaning, head fuzzy with pleasure.

“You’d finally give it to him,” Stiles says.  “You’d let him suck it into his mouth, give him time to adjust and then fuck in deep.  You’d fuck him until his throat was raw, until he was tearing up because he’s so sore and happy and full, with two dicks inside him, his body being pushed back and forth between the two.  He feels weightless, like he’s floating, because we’re totally in control.”

Scott speeds up, and Stiles can already feel his toes curling, his calf muscles tightening.  He gasps as Scott gives a long, hard suck and pulls off, tonguing at Stiles’ slit.  Stiles’ head tips back and he moans, because Scott  _knows_ he’s sensitive there, knows that’s not fair.

“And?” Scott says, voice low and warm.  He’s trying for casual, but when Stiles refocuses, he can see him dripping all over their sheets.

“You wouldn’t let him have your come in his mouth,” Stiles blurts, his words coming fast and uneven.  Scott’s rushing towards the end, as eager to come as Stiles is, and he’s not pulling punches.  “You’d pull out, right before you lost it, make him watch as you spurted come all over his face.  I saw you looking, he has the prettiest face, doesn’t he?”

Scott gives a long, hard suck in response, and Stiles whimpers.  He’s just on the edge of coming, and if Scott just gives him a  _little_ bit more…

“He’d look perfect with those cheekbones covered in come,” Stiles forces out, and Scott gives him what he needs, Stiles going taut as the orgasm washes over him.  He relaxes into the bed as Scott pulls off, licking come off his lips.

Stiles kisses the taste of his own come out of Scott’s mouth and lets Scott rut against his hip.  They melt into a sweaty, messy pile on the bed, Scott placing a short, sweet kiss against Stiles’ neck.

“So we email him back?” Scott asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “after a nap.”

 

* * *

Scott insists they be responsible and look through more than half of one video before they actually email Jackson, so they go through a bunch of his videos.  They’re pretty much exclusively solo vids, with the exception of the very, very beginning, where there are a few of a younger, even twinkier Jackson filming with a bossy redhead and a cheerful brunette.

They watch them all, just to see how Jackson interacts with other people on film, and are a bit surprised by what they find.

“This is really vanilla,” Stiles comments, halfway through a video of Jackson eating Lydia out.  “I mean, it’s a threesome, but it’s like…”

“Soft,” Scott says.  He scrolls down to the description and scans through it.  “Dude, they were dating at the time.  That was like… their thing.”

Allison’s gently rubbing Jackson’s back, and Stiles almost feels uncomfortable.  This Jackson is a very different Jackson from the one they saw in the other videos they watched, subby as fuck but belligerent whenever he actually opens his mouth.

This Jackson is soft and sweet, obeying without protest when one of his girlfriends asks him to do something.

“Dude, what happened to cause the personality transplant, then?” Stiles asks.  

“They might’ve broken up,” Scott says.  “He didn’t put up interview clips for a while after the last one went up, maybe that’s why.”

Stiles goes quiet, watching the screen.  Scott can see the gears turning in his head.

“Don’t,” Scott warns, and Stiles looks at him, confused.  “Don’t bug him about his dating history, it’s none of our business.  We’re gonna be professional.”

“But what if-” Stiles starts.

“Nope,” Scott says.  “We go through the checklist, we talk limits, and we ask what he wants to do.  He’s a professional, we’re professionals.”

“Fine,” Stiles says begrudgingly.  “I’ll be professional as long as he is.”

 

* * *

Jackson is not professional.

Jackson is in no way professional.

They invite him over to talk in their apartment, and within minutes, he’s talked down their apartment, their bed, their camera equipment, and (most offensively of all), Stiles’ jeep.  Stiles looks like he wants to smash Jackson’s face in, and Scott can’t blame him.  

To Scott’s surprise, though, Stiles hasn’t booted him out yet, or told him he can walk right out the door.  Stiles has done that before over lesser offenses than insulting his baby.

“Sit,” Stiles says flatly at Jackson.  Jackson looks like he’s going to push back, like he’s going to question why Stiles is bossing him around all of the sudden, but after glancing at Scott and getting no sympathy, he parks it on the couch.  Scott sits next to him, Stiles perching on the edge of the coffee table.

“If you actually want this, we not gonna do this posturing bullshit,” Stiles tells him, practically looming over him, face deadly serious.  “My jeep is fucking  _awesome_ , you can’t even-”

“Stiles,” Scott says gently, nudging him with his knee.  Stiles shoots him a dirty look, but he gets the hint.

“Is he your dom?” Jackson spits out at Stiles, before he can resume his lecture.  “I know you’ve got the bigger dick, but he’s in your ass more than you’re in his.”

Scott relaxes back into the couch as Stiles’ whole body inflates, a rant coming.  “Okay, let’s talk for a second about the fact that being a bottom and being a sub is not the same thing, and if you actually knew a single thing about-”

“Yes,” Scott says, cutting him off.  “He’s right, bottoming and subbing aren’t the same thing at all, and I like being fucked just as much as him.  But I’m his dom.”

Jackson tilts his head and gives Scott a once-over, belligerent and haughty.  “Don’t look much like one.”

Scott covers his face with his hands.  “Okay, this isn’t gonna happen.  We’re not filming until you learn some things about how this actually works.  This didn’t even have to go in a BDSM direction, but if you want to take things there, you have to actually know your shit first.”

Jackson looks at him flatly for a long moment, like he thinks Scott is joking.  When Stiles adds, “Or until you learn some fucking manners,” he realizes they’re serious.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jackson splutters.  “If you’re telling me you don’t want this ass when all you usually have to work with is  _him_ …” he says, pointing at Stiles.

Stiles leans in very, very close to Jackson’s face, Jackson standing his ground even as his eyes drop down to Stiles’ lips.  “That’s right,” Stiles says.  “Tell me again that you don’t want a piece of this?  You can’t even fucking keep your eyes off me.  You’ve been glancing at my crotch the entire time you’ve been here, you’re so thirsty for it I bet you’d get down on your knees here and suck me off if I let you.”

The room is silent for a long moment, and Scott winces.  He doesn’t think this could possibly get worse.  He’s waiting for Jackson to lash out, but when he looks closer, he notices a light blush forming on Jackson’s cheeks.

“Oh,” Scott says.  “That…”

“Shut up,” Jackson warns, but his cheeks only redden.

“Right,” Scott says.  “Okay.  Stiles, back off.  Jackson, it looks like we’re gonna need to do some talking about things.  Are you prepared to do some reading?”

“Do I have to?” Jackson asks.

“Do you want my dick down your throat?” Stiles responds.

“I thought we agreed I got his throat,” Scott says mildly, making Jackson’s head swing to look at him, eyes wide.  “Right, one thing at a time,” Scott says.  “Yes you have to read them if you want that kind of shoot with us.  We’ll send you some links, and we can meet up to talk.”

“Fine,” Jackson says.  “Give me the damn links.”

 

* * *

Scott and Stiles send Jackson off with a book or two and an email with as many links as Stiles could track down about BDSM, and also not being an asshole.  Scott is not optimistic about those sinking in very much, but Stiles determinedly tracks them down and slips them in.

“Read it,” Scott tells Jackson as he heads out the door.  “Read it and think about it and let us know when you want to meet up.”

When Jackson is gone, Scott is relieved.  Stiles is still worked up, and Scott knows he’ll be aggressive and fussy the rest of the day.  Scott just feels drained.

“Do you think he’ll be back?” he asks Stiles.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles asks.  “He’ll be back.  I give him a week, tops, before he’s back here banging on our door.”

“I’m not sure if I should call that optimism or not,” Scott says ruefully.  “He’s gonna be a lot of work, you know.”

“I know,” Stiles says.  “He’s a douche, he’ll be a pain to work with.”

“We’re going to anyway, aren’t we?”

“Yup,” Stiles agrees, popping the p.  “It’s gonna be so much fun when we take him apart.”

Scott sighs, but he knows Stiles is probably right.

 

* * *

Stiles is right.  Precisely six days later, Jackson calls back, saying he’s read through everything and is ready to talk.  They clear their schedule for the afternoon and agree to meet up with him at a diner with booths; even though that means they’ll be talking about sex in public, Scott decides that a more neutral location might do some good.

One meeting turns to two turns to three.  Jackson learns quickly, but there’s only so much he’s willing (and able) to take in at one time, and they have a lot to talk about.  Scott points out more than once that they don’t have to do anything less than vanilla, but Jackson seems determined to charge forward.  He knows what he wants, when it comes down to it; he just doesn’t know how to get himself there, or how to even begin to talk about it.

He’s marginally easier to deal with, though, now that he’s been forced to admit that Scott and Stiles have something he wants.  He quits picking fights with Stiles after him and Stiles shouting almost gets them kicked out of the diner.  Scott flat out tells him they’re done if it happens again, and he settles down some.

By the time they’re finally ready to go forward with the shoot, almost a month and a half has passed, and they’ve become comfortable with each other.  They’re regulars at the diner, and the waitress cracks jokes about their visits being dates.  Scott expects Jackson to lash out, but he’s always surprisingly quiet about it.

They’re in a good enough place that Scott can’t find a real reason to put this off anymore.  They all test clean, which is all Stiles needs to declare he’s ready.  Scott has a very vague idea of where Jackson can be pushed and where he can’t, and Jackson and Stiles can be in each other’s presence without wanting to punch each other in the face.

Scott considers it enough progress that he clears a date for them to shoot.  

He’s still not sure this isn’t a terrible idea.

 

* * *

Jackson meticulously sets up his cameras in their bedroom.

It was one of the things he refused to back down on; they were going to use his cameras and he was going to handle the positioning.  He allows small suggestions from Scott and Stiles, because they have more experience with more than one person, but it seems to be his sticking point, so Scott stays out of it.  Even Stiles keeps his mouth shut, for the most part, letting Jackson make adjustments.

“Okay,” he finally says.  “I’m good.”

They run through safe words with the camera running, though Stiles is pretty sure Jackson’s going to want to cut it out to upload it to their sites.  If it were just Scott and Stiles, they wouldn’t bother, but Jackson doesn’t seem to like a lot of chitchat beforehand.

Jackson positions himself in the middle of the bed, clothes already off.  Scott and Stiles kiss briefly, peeling off each other’s clothes, because they both enjoy that part of things, Stiles always spending way too much time running his hands along Scott’s abs as he lifts his shirt off.

This time, they don’t linger.  Jackson is there, demanding their attention, so they can’t spend as much time on each other as they would like.  

“He’s so impatient,” Stiles comments, shooting Jackson a quick look.  He’s practically glaring at the two of them, sitting naked and antsy on the bed.  “So desperate for attention.”

Scott isn’t sure if Stiles is trying to rile Jackson up or not, but it’s working, either way.  Scott shoots Stiles a look, warning him; getting Jackson to behave is going to be difficult enough as it is, and he doesn’t need Stiles working him into a tizzy first.

Stiles completely ignores Scott, turning his attention to Jackson quickly, grin wolfish as he leans in.  Their kiss is aggressive from the start, more push than pull.  Scott watches Stiles tug on Jackson’s lip with his teeth, and Jackson moans, surging forward to press harder into the kiss.

Scott knows already that he has his work cut out for him.  

 

* * *

Stiles is on top of Jackson, pinning Jackson’s wrists to the bed with his hands.  He’s eyeing Jackson’s nipples, and it’s obvious he wants to suck them red and raw, but Jackson’s giving him nothing easy, squirming and pushing back, and it’s taking most of Stiles’ weight to keep him flat on the bed.  

“Jackson,” Scott says, and Jackson stills and looks up at him, surprised.  Scott has been fairly quiet so far, letting Stiles do most of the talking.  Stiles takes advantage of Jackson’s silence, sucking bruises into Jackson’s neck, pressing quiet but clear words into his ear.

“God, you need that so bad, don’t you?” he asks.  “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?  You need to be told what to do.  Need someone with a firm hand who  _makes_ you do exactly what they want, and you think if you’re a big enough asshole, if you bite and fight and push, you’ll get what you want, don’t you?  You’ll get Scott’s hands on your hips, holding you down as he fucks you sore, me fucking your mouth so you don’t even have to talk, all you have to do is open up and suck.  You don’t want to think, and you think if you’re a big enough asshole, you’ll get what you want, right?”

Jackson’s hips buck up against Stiles, getting in a long, slow grind before Stiles pulls his body away entirely.  He tries to pull his wrists out from under Stiles, tries to lift his hips to get some friction, but Stiles holds out.

It’s obvious Jackson’s starting to get himself more and more frustrated, but he hasn’t answered Stiles.  Scott gently rests a hand on Jackson’s hip, and Jackson stills once again.  “Is that what you want Jackson?” he asks.  “Do you want us to help you out of your head?”

There’s a long silence.  The question pins Jackson more than Stiles’ long fingers.  He flushes pink as he looks off to the side, ashamed of the answer, but Scott isn’t going to let him get away with dodging it.

“Use your words,” Scott coaxes.  He rubs at Jackson’s hip with his thumb, a gentle reassurance.  “I’m not giving you anything until you tell me what you want.”

Scott’s impressed by how quickly Jackson’s switched over from wanting to fight to wanting to escape.  Stiles keeps his mouth shut for once, thank god, realizing the precariousness of the situation, and he eases off Jackson’s wrists ever so slightly.

“I want you to… to do what he just said,” Jackson finally blurts at Scott.  

“Need to be a bit more specific than that,” Stiles says drily.  “I said a lot of things.  Which one do you want?”

“All of it,” Jackson says, his voice small.  “I want all of it.”  He licks his lips, shifting nervously under Stiles and staring up at Scott.  “Please?” he tries tentatively.

He looks scared, vulnerable.  This, though, Scott can handle much better than the aggressiveness from before.  This is something he can work with.  “Of course,” he says softly.  “I’ll give you exactly what you need as long as you’re good for me.”

Jackson practically melts into the bed with relief, and Scott gives Stiles a quick signal to ease off.  Scott kisses Jackson, then, pulling away until Jackson finally settles into a soft, slow rhythm.

“We’ll take care of you,” Scott says, and Jackson smiles.

 

* * *

When Jackson finally comes, he’s been hard for so long he feels strung-out.  He’s distantly aware of how raw his throat is, of the way moans are flooding from his mouth without him consciously deciding to put them there.  There’s come on his face and in his ass, and he has four hands on him, but he’s not sure which are whose anymore.

He feels soothed and sated in a way he hasn’t in a long time, since he was part of something bigger, since he had his couple.  He didn’t realize how much tension and stress and pressure he had built up until now; it feels like all of the weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders has been lifted.

They have him drink some water and ease him down onto his back, Scott gently kissing his cheek.  He smiles loosely, content sandwiched between the two of them, the cameras totally forgotten.  

 

* * *

When he finally comes up, Jackson’s embarrassed.  Scott asks how he feels as he gives him some more water and a chocolate chip granola bar.  Jackson accepts them gratefully.  Chewing and sipping is a good excuse to process what just happened without having to actually talk about it.

He knows Scott is going to make him talk about it eventually, though, so when he’s left with an empty wrapper, he finally responds.

“I feel a bit weird,” he admits, his voice rasping.  He winces and takes a long sip of water.  “Not bad weird, but…”

“Not quite what you expected?” Scott asks.

Jackson nods gratefully.  “Not at all.  Definitely different.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Stiles says.  “Looks like it did you some good, though.  You look less like you’ve got a stick lodged up your ass.”

Scott shoots Stiles a look, but Jackson’s grateful.  He doesn’t think he could handle Stiles being as soft as he was before, not now that he’s more aware.  He needs Stiles being Stiles; it’s almost reassuring to him, being treated like he isn’t breakable.  

Thinking about Stiles reminds him of what he had said, though, right before things had finally slotted into place.

“How’d you know?” he asks Stiles.  “About… about me?”

“Personal experience,” Stiles says.  “I’m lucky I have Scott to work things out on the regular, but you must’ve been bottling it up for  _ages_.  That can get explosive, when you’re a bit of an asshole on a good day.”

“Is this…” the words die quickly in Jackson’s throat.  He feels terrified, suddenly, because now Stiles has him thinking about the long term.  Stiles has Scott, but he isn’t even sure if the two of them want him, let alone want this with him again.  Thinking about never having this again, now that he knows how it feels, is terrifying.  “Would you… I mean, do you want…?”

Stiles and Scott share a knowing look.  “We’ll talk about it, together,” Scott promises, “but I’d like to do this again with you.  Even if it isn’t for filming.”

“I’m game,” Stiles says.  “It was nice having someone to push around, for a change.”

Jackson breathes, his chest loosening.  “I’d like that,” he says.  “I mean, neither of you was all  _that_ shitty in bed.”

Stiles snorts.  “We rocked your world, don’t even try that.”

“Whatever,” Jackson says.

He can’t stop a grin from sneaking to the corners of his mouth.

 

* * *

“Friday afternoon at the diner?” Scott asks Jackson when he finally makes his way to the door.

Jackson blinks, surprised.  “To talk things out, or…?”

“Sure,” Scott says.  “But also because that’s when our dates are, we can’t let the waitress down.”

Stiles looks floored, but Jackson grins.  “Friday afternoon.  It’s a date.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on here.


End file.
